Shattering And Healing
by Renshuusei01
Summary: Jean is trapped in a hellish life. Will Marco be his salvation? Or will he be the one to completely destroy Jean?
1. chapter 1

I cursed my hellish life as I sat by the register of the 24 hours open, dirt cheap grocery store that I worked in. I was taking my fourth night shift this month and it was the literal definition of 'death silence' both inside and outside of the rundown building with no customers in sight.

Was I surprised?

Of course not.

No one other than the students from the nearby college who wanted cheap beer came into the store at that hour. And that was only on friday and saturday nights. So the silent hours left me with nothing but to dwell on my thoughts to do.

I had been studying in that same college once. My chest tightened as I remembered the lessons, the classrooms, the professors, the rush before the finals and everything else.

I had been a good student too. My grades had never once gone under average. I had never had any problems with any of my teachers or classmates. I had liked it there. I had liked learning. I hadn't wanted to drop out. Not at my last year. Not before reaching my dream.

I was going to be a doctor.

I could feel a knot forming in my throat but I took deep breaths and shook my head. I wasn't going to let the tears come. I couldn't change anything from then on anyway. Crying over some shit that had happened two years ago wouldn't solve anything either. There were more important problems in my life, ones that I could actually try to fight before it was too late.

For example, that bastard of a man that I called my father and the drinking and gambling habits he had taken on after my mother's passing. The cuts and bruises he gave me whenever he saw me in the house. The pile of debts we were swimming in, or the shady men with the black cars who came to collect some of the money that they had lent to my father every few weeks.

Those were more urgent.

Had my life always been that bad? How had I ended up like that?

Well, my mother Milené, a young and beautiful girl of nineteen who was the heiress of her father's trading business had married my father, Joan Kirschtein, a man of thirty one who was penniless at the time out of her family's knowledge and approval.

Of course, her family had refused to give her anything unless she got a divorce. But unfortunately for her, the man that she loved enough to ignore the twelve years between them was nothing more than a fortune hunter on the inside and after only a few weeks of their marriage, I, Jean Kirstein, was already on the way. My poor mother, Milené, couldn't imagine raising her precious baby born out of her love all on her own so she had refused her family's offer just to stay with Joan.

Meanwhile, he had started to silently debate wheter to divorce the foolish girl who, in the end, brought him not the money he dreamt but another mouth to feed in the form of a brat who hadn't even been planned or wanted in the first place.

They had started to drift apart when Joan's 'luck' returned. A car accident had happened. Milené's parents were no longer there. The house, the business, the money, the lands,... Everything had become hers in one day with a twist of fate. Joan had become loving again. My poor mother had lost everyone dear to her except her husband. As her pregnancy progressed, she had clung to him more than ever. She had slowly accepted her family's death. It was just her, her husband and their baby from then on.

When I was finally born, both of them were the happiest they had ever been. I was going to be the cure to all the pain and sadness my mother had experienced before. I was going to bring her and the love of her life even closer. And in Joan's eyes, I was the guarantee of him getting to keep his prize, his wife and all her money. He knew the overly emotional girl he had married like the back of his hand. She would be more in love with him and would never consider leaving him then that they had a baby. Everything had turned out just the way he had wanted and his rich life had begun.

I had learned all those from the twenty five years old diary of my mother which she had written in every single day after she had met Joan and the drunken babbling of the said man years after her death.

I hadn't read anything after the yellowed page which had my birth date on its top right corner and I had long since learned to tune out the resonating cacophony Joan made in the rare nights that he spent in the house.

I had witnessed the rest of the story from the first moment that I had become aware of my surroundings and the people around me anyway. I didn't need to know about the few years between the last page that I had read and the day which consisted of my oldest memory.

I should have been four or five, I think. It was a sunny afternoon but I was sitting in the living room of the two story house that had once belonged to my grandparents. For a reason which I couldn't remember no matter how much I tried, I hadn't had any desire to play outside that day. My mother was there, sitting beside me on the antique couch that I had liked the most and that had been her childhood favorite as well. She was beautiful as a portrait painted with all the colors that gave joy to the one looking and tender as a dove at the same time. Her light brown eyes and her singing voice as she caressed my hair are the furthest back I could go in my mind when I closed my eyes as if I was born out of that lullaby which I hadn't been able to understand at the time and couldn't remember the words to when I finally learned french after many years.

I felt a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips accompanying the tightening of my chest at the fond and sad memory of my late mother.

She had been the best mother out there. She had always been there whenever I needed her. She would answer all the question that my child mind could think of. She would play the ridiculous games that we made up together with me. She would sleep in my bed and sing to me whenever I had a nightmare. She would hold me whenever I cried and soothe me with her hugs and small, affectionate kisses.

Our life was perfect then when I had my mother with me, when I hadn't been aware of the coughing fits she would have, when I hadn't known of the young secretaries that would call Joan's phone and ask for their lover when my mother answered.

But the good things never lasted, did they?

Everything had gone downhill after a dinner which my mother started coughing uncontrollably and we saw crimson stains on the tissue that she had used to cover her mouth. My seven years old self hadn't understood what was happening. The only thing I had known was that my mother was sick.

I could remember crying and trying to go to the hospital with Joan and my mother instead of staying home with the housekeeper. I had been more scared than any nightmare had left me before. It had been the first time I had seen my mother's thin body shaking that hard as tears run down her face and the ever emotionless Joan that panicked.

I didn't know how I spent that night all alone on my bed with the shadows lurking around every corner and nightmares looming closer nor the next eight years that had followed which my mother had spent in the hospital, never once returning home and with her condition worsening day by day until it was all over one cold february morning.

We had had a fairly small ceremony for her with only the closest friends of my parents invited. It had lasted only a few hours under the light snow and with everyone wrapped in black, contrasting the eternal whiteness around us. It had been all quiet that day, as if the people of the city, the cars and even the animals were aware of the grief I had been feeling. All too quickly, they had buried her and everyone had left. My mother was gone forever. I would never see her again.

I remembered falling into a dark void after she had died, waiting and waiting to finally hit the bottom and smash into unrecognizable pieces.

I had stopped caring about the school, about my ambitions, about everything. I had wanted to become a doctor only because I had made a promise to my mother when she had still been living in that narrow hospital room. I had told her that I would become a doctor and heal her one day. I would cure everyone who had families waiting for them to return home, I had said. I had stuck to that for eight years, working to male it come true, to make my mother proud. But my life had turned empty without her by my side, my promise meaningless.

Joan hadn't cared about me. He hadn't even checked how I was doing at school, how I was coping. He had been free to do whatever he wanted, have flings with whoever he wanted, spend as much as he wanted from then on that my mother was gone.

I had decided to get myself together after I had realised how much of a bastard Joan really was.

He had started to show his true colors as there wasn't anyone who he had to hide from anymore. I had studied hard and won a scholarship for the school of medicine at the college in the town. It had been my way of rebelling against Joan. He had accepted my mother's death easily but I wouldn't. I wouldn't let her die. I would fulfill my promise to her because it had been the only thing that really tied me to her. It had been what kept her alive for me.

Years had gone by slowly. Joan had strayed more and more from the man that my mother had imagined him as. He had started drinking and more often than not, spending the entire night at pubs. He had also started joining gambling parties with men who had shiny black cars and guns tucked in their expensive leather belts.

I hadn't cared about the dangerous shit he got involved in. He hadn't cared about the brat of the girl who he had married only for money. I could go and die like my mother for all he cared so we had come to a silent agreement to not get in each other's way.

But things had kept getting worse. Joan had lost so many times that we had had nothing left from my mother's money in the end. We had lost the house and moved into a two bedroom apartment. We had lost the car and the lands. Everything. Joan had drunk and gambled everything away. In the end, the books and the extra fees that my scholarship didn't cover had become to much to afford. Joan had stopped spending momey for me completely after he had sold the house and I hadn't been able to fund for myself with the part time job that I had had then.

So two years later after the day I exited the college building for the last time, the story found me working at that dirty, old grocery store and trying to collect enough money to leave the apartment I shared with Joan and get out of Trost completely if possible because I just couldn't take the bastard's empty bottles occupying every corner in the house or his beating sessions anymore.

I didn't even know why I was trying at that point. I was a failure. I was unlucky. I was... I would never get to become a doctor as I had promised to my mother. I had let her die. I was stuck with Joan. I would never be free of the terrible man. I would probably die in his hands when he got really drunk and really angry one night. Still, there was that small part of me telling me to keep going, to fight to stay alive...

Maybe it was my mother watching over me from wherever she was and whispering to my ear.

I didn't know. It didn't matter anyway. Nothing mattered. I had no means of escape out of the life I had and I was too much of a coward to end it all eventhough I knew that even one of the cheap razor blades that the store sold would do just fine and save me forever.

I forced myself to stop the train of thoughts. It didn't matter. I didn't matter. I was too warm, too comfortable for those depressing ideas.

"E..."

I could hear a voice in the distance but I didn't listen. I was floating. I didn't want to hear anything or see anyone then. I just wanted to let the soft darkness around me devour me completely and maybe dream of my mother.

"Excu..."

The voice was still there, closer, louder. I started to shake lightly. It reminded me of the rocking motion my mother would use to make me fall asleep when she would pick me up in her arms after a nightmare woke me.

"Excuse me!"

I shot my eyes open. I had fallen asleep somehow on the uncomfortable stool behind the register and a customer had arrived while I was out cold. Great. I would certainly have trouble with the boss the next day.

I blinked a few times to clear the mist out of my eyes and looked at the man that woke me.

Instead of an old, fat drunk with oily hair and a week old dirty beard, I saw the face of a young man about my ages.

He had black pants, a crisp white shirt and a black, silk tie with a dark green suit jacket and shiny shoes on. Definietly, not someone one could see everyday at a small grocery store located on the dirtier, poorer part of the town at three in the morning.

"How may I help you?"

The practised line was out of my lips before I could further examine the guy and figure out what he was doing there. So I fixed my eyes on his face. He had a slightly tanned skin with freckles dotting on his cheeks, shiny black hair and dark brown eyes with thin brows. His face was somewhat familiar but I couldn't place it. But then again, he didn't have any extraordinary traits other than the freckles. My mind was probably just playing with me.

"Sorry to wake you but this is kind of an emergency...do you have a health section here?"

The guy raised his left hand which was fisted around something that looked like a handkerchief which was soaked crimson. My eyes widened at the sight.

"I cut my hand, I need something to wrap it with until I get to a hospital."

I stormed off to the back of the store telling the guy to wait over my shoulder. I immediately kneeled on the floor and found a package of cotton, medical tape, bandages, a small bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a few other things before quickly returning to the register. I left everything on it and turned back to face the guy.

"You need first aid if it's bleeding that much. Sit here."

I gestured my stool and he did as he was told. I quickly unwrapped his hand and started to examine it after slipping a pair of medical gloves on.

"You don't have to do this..."

He talked quietly but I shook my head.

"Are you out of your mind, dude? I told you that you need first aid. What the fuck even happened?"

I asked as I started to press on the cut in his palm. It was fairly large and would certainly require stiches.

"I was driving and I got thirsty but another car appeared suddenly and I dropped the bottle in panic."

I narrowed my eyes as I wetted some of the cotton with alcohol.

"You were drinking while driving?"

I could feel his eyes widening eventhough I didn't lift my eyes from my task.

"It was nothing alcoholic! Just water. I parked and tried to pick up the large pieces but I accidently cut my hand."

"Water in a glass bottle?"

I asked as I wiped at his hand with dry tissues once more.

"Glass is healtier than plastic..."

He muttered weakly and it kind of made sense, I thought to myself. The guy didn't really smell like alcohol and he seemed like the kind of person who would pay five times more to drink some water out of a fancy glass bottle just because it was 'healtier'. I shrugged. I didn't care.

"This is going to sting."

I told him as I pressed the alcohol covered cotton on the cut slowly. He winced a little after trying to hold his breath but stayed mostly quiet as I slowly cleaned the wound.

"You are really good at this...Jean. Are you studying medicine?"

I frowned involunterily.

"No..."

Fortunately he didn't say anything else about the matter, he must have understood the topic was off limits. I bandaged his hand tightly and secured everything with medical tape.

"So, what's your name?"

I asked just too fill in the awkward silence as I started to clean everything.

"M-my name?"

I glanced at him to see a genuinely surprised expression. Probably a rich kid who expected everyone in the neighbourhood to know him.

"Yes, your name since I already know mine."

He blinked a few times as I started to type in the product codes of the things I used.

"It's Marco. Marco Bodt."

He gave me a smile with a different expression as if expecting some kind of recognition from me. Well, I couldn't say I was sorry to not know him.

"You'll need stiches on that hand Marco. Also you can't drive like that. Call yourself a cab and get to a hospital immediately. Your car should be fine in the parking lot."

I put a 10$ bill and took 3$ back bsfore shutting the register. Seeing that, Marco put his good hand in his pocket.

"I should pay for the bandages and everything else, right? How much it is?"

He asked and I sighed. I wasn't going to demand seven dollars from an injured guy who needed to go to a hospital to get his hand stiched. It just didn't sit well with me.

"It's fine. This place sells the cheapest shit you could imagine. Also you will need the money for the cab since the nearest hospital is pretty far away and they charge pretty high these days."

I said in my usual tone and he opened his mouth to argue.

"It's fine. Just call your cab already."

He sighed and fished his hand back out.

"My phone is in the car so...thanks for everything Jean. I will just wait in the car. I need to contact my family too anyway."

I nodded and took in his bright smile. How he managed that, I had no idea. Didn't his hand hurt?

"You are welcome. Just be careful on the way."

He nodded and gave me one last smile and a small wave before exiting and I went to wash my hands in the back and throw the gloves away. I washed my face too before returning to the empty store.

I was fully ready to return to my ordinary night shift in the disgusting place but not quite so fkr the small piece of paper on ths register.

'For the supplies, that you used...

0530 220 5574

Call me sometime. I can be a fun guy, I promise. :)'

I scowled at the note but my eyes widened when I saw the 200$ bill under it. I blinked stupidly at the paper then the money for a full minute.

It was certainly not an ordinary night. Just who was this Marco and why did I care so much? He was just a plain idiot, it seemed, I told myself. I didn't care. I didn't have time to spare to people like him as I worked ten hours a day. And I certainly wasn't the friendliest of the men out there. I would never call a half stranger who I met in the middle of the night after being forced awake at work. I just wasn't like that and between slaving myself to save up a little more and trying to deal with all the other problems in my shitty life, I just didn't have enough energy left to like people.

So, why was I wondering if I would see Marco again?


	2. chapter 2

I was sitting behind the register as always, waiting for my shift to end. It was early evening, the day after the night that I met Marco, it was the other cashier Sasha's turn to take the night shift that day and I was literally counting the minutes until I could finally go home, eat something as I had skipped breakfast and lunch alltogether that day and maybe catch up on the sleep I had lost.

The day was pretty normal and boring with college students buying instant noodle and old housewives asking me to explain the discounts again and again. The store was old and dusty as always. The products were cheap as always and the customers were slow as always as they moved in the line.

The only thing that didn't fit in the image was the light grey Mercedes which seemed to shine under the sun outside. Even the customers and the passing people gave it weird looks as they walked by. Though, I could easily predict who it belonged to since none of my usual customers earned enough to get a car like that.

I glanced outside once again through the automatic glass doors and put my hand in my pocket. The crampled piece of paper felt heavy in my palm as I squeezed my fist around it. Then I huffed and turned to face the new customers who were walking to the register. I still had three more hours to go and it would be a damn long three hours, I could tell as long lines formed in front of all Sasha, Connie and me once again.

I hated that job. The building, the rusty metal shelves, the stale air inside, the low salary, the same and old customers, the long work hours... I hated everything about it.

I couldn't understand how Sasha and Connie managed to smile at the customers, keep chatting about idle things and laugh or joke around while stocking the shelves and never lose their energy all day. I didn't understand those two one bit. But then again, I didn't know them very well.

Somethimes, they tried to include me in their conversations. They either talked about the latest series they had watched, some stupid video game or maybe their assignments from different classes if they felt more serious.

Obviously, I had no time to spare to a series or no money for games and I was no longer a student so there wasn't anything I could talk about with them. In the end, I always opted for short cut, simple answers when one of them adressed to me.

I knew that they pitied me. Sometimes, I would catch Sasha throwing worried looks at me but always pretend oblivion. Those occasions would usually end up with her hesistantly stepping closer and inviting me out with her friend group after my shift ended.

But I could never bring myself to accept. They were both part timers as they had classes most days. I worked everyday to be out of the house when Joan had his day off eventhough he spent it outside with his 'friends' more often than not. Also my shift ended way later than theirs. I couldn't make them wait for me even if I wanted to join them, which I didn't. I didn't consider them friends. They were acquaintances, nothing more. Who in their right mind would want to be more to someone like me anyway?

Even if I had friends to go out with, there was always the danger of Joan being home when I returned and deciding to use me as a punchbag to ease whatever problem he was recounting under the influence of alcohol that day because he always spent a few hours drinking at home after work and before going to his favorite pub. I always took care to return to the apartment before him, be locked in my room and stay quiet on that time of the day if I wasn't taking the night shift.

Would it be any different when I finally saved up enough to move into my own house?

I, honestly, didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know if I could manage to move out of that house and away from Joan.

The fear and the disgust that I felt as I waited in my room for him to go out and listened to his drunken speech mixed with the crashes of bottles broken over the corner of the table were real. The bruises, cuts and the swollen eyes that I saw in the mirror after an unfortunate occassion that I encountered the man in the house were even more so. I just couldn't imagine a life any better.

Still, I didn't believe that there were people like me who had to pretend being overly clumsy and come up with a new lie nearly everyday to sate the curiousty of others who asked about the bandages on their hands and arms or the band aids over their cheeks either. It was probably just me, I told myself everyday.

How else would the others like Connie and Sasha be so... I didn't even know what word to use when describing them. Alive, maybe?

But then, did that mean that I was dead? Did that mean that I could never live? Or did that mean that it didn't matter if I just vanished because they were the ones really living and I wasn't like them anyway? Would it be better to just die? Would it save me from Joan? Would it make everything okay?

Would I see my mother?

Maybe. I wanted nothing more than to see her again, to wrap my arms around her shoulders, to bury my face in her neck and cry. I wanted to be with her.

My vision was darkening already. Maybe I could just close my eyes and let the darkness spread. Maybe I would dream of my mother.

Maybe I would stay with her forever.

"Jean!"

I shot my eyes open with a start. I was standing in front of the register with the customers and Sasha looking at me with worry in their eyes. I had just dropped a can of corn soup and started to sway visibly on my feet.

Sasha rushed to my side and told me to sit down before waving her hands and directing the remaining customers towards Connie. Then she brought me a bottle of water.

Fifteen minutes later, she was lecturing me about the importance of eating and Connie was bringing me one of those terrible sandwiches of the store, having finished with the lasts of the customers.

"Jean, maybe you should go home for today. Connie and I can manage."

Sasha put a hand on my shoulder and leaned down to talk to me as I slowly took a bite. I could actually do what she said. It was way too early for Joan to be home. I could go and relax then go in my room hours before he arrived. But, in a strange way, I didn't want to. So I shook my head and told her that I was fine. She didn't insist but kept watching me in the corner of her eye for the next hour as I returned to my work, feeling a little better after something went into my stomach.

Another half an hour later, all three registers were crowded again with the husbands who had just got out of work, mothers with two or three children who vetoed the food they had been given and wanted something else and lastly the college students who had finished with that day's classes and needed snacks for a night full of studying that was ahead of them.

I worked faster and faster to send each customer away as soon as possible because the people were getting more and more impatient.

Twenty minutes later, I raised my head to see that both Sasha and Connie had only a few customers left. It was close to the end of Connie's shift and I had a little more than an hour left. There wouldn't be as many people coming in from then on so I could finally sit down after the last three women and one man left in line. I didn't look at any of their faces as I focused on the buttons and the drawer of the cash register and said my usual lines of 'Welcome miss/mister!' and 'Have a good evening and come again!' eventhough I was fully aware that I couldn't pour the necessary cheer into the words.

The middle aged woman before the man finally moved away with her bags and I exhaled quietly then greeted my last customer.

"Welcome mister!"

"You sound tired Jean."

My eyes widened when I heard that voice and saw Marco standing there when I raised my head. He was wearing a black suit jacket and pants, a dark red shirt and a grey tie. Did this guy wear anything but suits?

I must have stared for too long because Marco leaned over the register to look at my face closer.

"Are you okay, Jean? You look pale."

"What are you doing here?"

I asked back. He gave a bright smile and raised his hand in front of his chest.

"I came to get my car but wanted to thank you for last night. The doctor said that the first aid was pretty good and my hand would probably get infected if it hadn't been done."

I raised a brow at him. His hand really was fine if he could move it that fast but... Hadn't he already thanked enough the night before? Why hadn't he just got in his car and left? Didn't he have anything better to do? The specially tailored suit and the silver watch indicated that he certainly had better places to be and probably more important things to do too than standing in front of me and wasting his time. But then again, it had nothing to do with me if a rich man decided to spend time in the most disgusting part of the town.

"Don't you have work or something?"

"Not really, I am on leave since I am ill."

He talked with that smile still present on his face and waved his bandaged hand.

"Well good for you but unfortunately, I am working and you are occupying the register."

I didn't know why I felt the need to be that grumpy. I could just smile and tell Marco that I wished for him to get well soon. He was clearly too well behaved for his own good and trying to act like a gentleman. I could just be nicer but I didn't have the energy or motivation to smile at a half stranger.

Marco's eyes widened a little as if he hadn't noticed was he was doing and he quickly muttered an apology before grabbing two bottles of shampoo, three cans of corn soup, a bunch of candies and a few batteries from the table with the discounted items near the register and dumping them before me.

So he was decided to keep surprising me. Just who would purchase random things to be able to stand in front of me instead of leaving after hearing what I had said?

"Are you serious?"

He nodded with a little too much enthusiasm which I couldn't give meaning to and I unlocked the register with my password with a sigh.

"So, how old are you Jean?"

I raised my head from my task to throw a look at him and he widened his smile.

"I am twenty two years old. At least tell me if you are older than me or not."

Seriously what was this guy's problem? Why was he trying to chat with me?

"Do you feel the need to chat with the cashiers everytime you go to a market?"

He shook his head a little, still smiling.

"Actually no. I don't really do the grocery shopping but I thought that small talk would be nice."

I scoffed at him, hoping to make him drop that grin but, of course, to no avail. I was sure that I was the most unfriendly, unattractive, uncharismatic man he had ever seen. What was he trying to achieve by talking to me? I didn't have the slightest idea.

"Okay. I will give you a tip about real life then. No one talks to the cashier, the janitor, the pizza boy, the receptionist or the security."

I talked with as much snarkiness as I could manage. I was getting angry. I was sleep deprieved, hungry, thirsty and I had a headache. I still had to stay at work for an hour and I wouldn't even be able to get comfortable at my house. I would have to lock myself in my room and hold my breath until Joan left. Then I would fall asleep and wake up to come to work before Joan woke up. To topt all, there was this one guy who had no reason to be there, who refused to understand what kind of man I was, trying to talk to me and asking öe questions while smiling at me as if mocking me. Eventhough I had wondered if he would return the night before and I hadn't thrown the piece of paper with his bumber away, he irritated me to no end then.

"So, how old are you?"

I snapped my head up and looked at him with a frown but wasn't able to say anything at his stupid, freckled, happy face. I ripped his receipt with as much force as I could manage and hurriedly put the things he bought in plastic bags because I knew that he wouldn't then I handed the receipt to him.

"That would be 39.95$."

He gave me a 200$ bill and took the bags slowly.

"So you are not really going to answer?"

I crampled the 100$ bill that I took out of the register. Why was I getting so worked up over literally nothing? I didn't know.

"I am a really stubborn person, Jean. Maybe you will tell me tomorrow."

He talked with that cheerful voice before turning to walk away without taking the change.

"You forgot your change."

He stopped and looked at me over his shoulder.

"Keep it, please."

I shook my head at him.

"This is not a restaurant."

"But the sevice was really good. Also, you don't look older than twenty six."

He turned to waalk away once again and handed the bags to a random woman as I kept squeezing the money in my hand as it was responsible of every single bad thing in my life and biting my lower lip nearly hard enough to make it bleed.

Then without really processing it I talked to myself.

"I am twenty five..."

Though, I didn't expect Marco to hear it. He turned and waved at me with his bandaged hand with a look that openly said that he got what he wanted before walking out, leaving me to stand there and glare at the door even after the Mercedes disappeared from my sight.

"J-jean!"

Connie and Sasha both rushed to my side as I gave them a confused look.

"Jean! You...he...man!"

Connie pointed at the glass doors excitedly and Sasha nodded at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

I asked and they looked at each other for a second before facing me again.

"That was Marco Bodt! Marco Bodt, man!"

I was even more confused.

"How do you know Marco?"

Sasha's eyes widened even more and Connie gaped at me like a fish.

"What do you mean how do you know Marco?"

"What rock have you been living under dude?"

They talked at the same time and I craned my neck to look back and forth between them.

"He is Marco Bodt! The son of the owner of Bodt Group, the company that owns Sina restaurant chain!"

"And Wings of Freedom coffee shops!"

"And the Stohess Cosmetics!"

"And Titan chain. Those cool videogame cafes that everyone saves up to go!"

"And more!"

"Yeah more!"

They kept shouting as I blinked at them, trying to understand.

"He knows you man! How did you two meet?"

Connie asked while Sasha handed me a magazine.

"Look Jean, he is the face of Shingeki, their perfume brand! And...amd he knows you!"

I looked at the magazine in my hand and indeed, Marco was on the front cover with a small glass bottle in his hand.

So that was where I had seen his face before.

"You didn't answer us!"

Connie and Sasha shouted once again and trapped me between them.

One hour later, I was walking in the dirty streets with cracked pavements to the apartment that I shared with Joan with a spinning and aching head.

Why would someone get as excited as Sasha and Connie over learning that their...acquaintance knew someone rich or rather that rich someone knew their acquaintance?

Marco was rich. So what? It didn't have anything to do with me or them and it wasn't like I would see him again, was it?


	3. chapter 3

I had just exited my office and I was driving slowly on the narrow streets with the fallen trash cans and broken street lamps. I was going to the grocery store that Jean worked in just as I did everyday since the night that I had met him. I didn't really understand why I had wanted to see him again and again but I had long since stopped questioning that strange feeling in me.

There was just something about Jean. Something different. I knew that the two of us were not alike in the slightest bit yet something told me that he could be the first person to really understand me if we knew each other better. I also wanted to understand him. For example, there was always this dreariness in his eyes no matter what it was that he was doing. I wanted to know its reason. I wanted it to disappear. I had known him for two months already but I had never once seen him smiling. Just what was he going through? What kind of life did he have? What kind of pain he was experiencing? What could I do to help?

One would wonder how I had started thinking like that for a cashier who worked in a terrible place that I wouldn't even turn to look at under normal circumantances but had entered one night.

I couldn't explain that one myself. Maybe it was because he seemed so sincere. Maybe it was because he didn't show those fake smiles that everyone else showed or tell the stupid lies that everyone else told when around me. Or maybe it was because he was the first one who had helped me out of free will and without expecting anything back from me.

I was born as the first and only son of Michael and Beatrice Bodt, the owners of one of the most well known and richest companies in the country.

pFrom the first day that I had opened my eyes, there were butlers, maids, servants and nannies all around me. They had practically raised me while my own parents went around the country to join meetings, events, charity parties and balls. I had been raised to inherit everything my family had and all the people around me had always pampered me to no end. Even after my sister Margaret was born, they had kept all the attention on me because I would be the boss one day.

I had spent my childhood studying with private teachers, getting ready to run the company and wondering when my mother and father would return from whatever event that they were attending. I hadn't had a single friend other than Eren who was the son of the doctor in the house but he had grown up to become the house steward and had started to address me as 'sir' like everyone else. Meanwhile, my sister had been raised as a perfect lady. Silent, well mannered, clever, beautiful but also distant from me.

I hadn't really known what family meant. I had been taught to call my mother and father with fancy titles and compliment them while eating with silver cutlery in name of etiquette as if we were strangers.

So, I had lived faking happiness and putting on false smiles on my face just like everyone I knew. Years later, I had finally started to work with my father after graduating from the private universty that I had attended. I had started assisting him in meetings and new projects. I had accepted to become the face of a few of them. I had even promised to marry Mina Carolina, the daughter of another rich bussiness man eventhough I was unwilling. I had started to play my role as my family and the people expected from me. I hadn't even thought about refusing anything my family had decided for me once. What would rebelling against them change anyway? I was born into that life. So I had let everything be. I had let the flow of life and fate take me to wherever it pleased. Everything had fallen into place as if my life was a novel written ages ago and I, the protagonist who had no power over the outcome of the events no matter what choice they made.

I had thought that everyone was the same. Fake, selfish, proud... Everyone I had met had befriended me because of my surname and the benefits it could bring to them. For a long time, I had assumed that it was how real friendship worked. I had known that there were good people like Eren but I had thought that they were too rare to find one by one. And that had made me just like them. Happy, but depressed on the inside. Smiling, but scowling behind that expression. A real saint like the people in the charity gatherings liked to say but someone who had to suppress the urge to strangle a few men and women everyday and keep his disgust against the humanity in check in real. Shortly: fake.

Just when I was fed up with it all, I had met someone different.

I had been driving in the middle of the night just a few hours before dawn after working on a new project for many hours in my office in the company building. I had decided to go around a little before returning home because I didn't get time to think and clear my head all too often. Before I knew it, two hours had passed already and I was so tired, so sleep deprived and so frustrated with the things going through my head that I had injured myself by accident for the first time in many years.

I had seen the '24 hours open' sign on a building that looked like a market a few meters ahead and I had went over there after pressing on the wound in my palm with my handkerchief. I had known that I needed something better to stop the bleeding before going to a hospital.

When I showed my hand to the cashier with the name tag that read 'Jean', his eyes had widened and he had run to get me first aid supplies. Then he had took care of my wound eventhough he hadn't had the slightest need to. He hadn't even accepted my money. But the thing that had surprised me the most was him not knowing who I was. He hadn't recognised me even when I gave him my full name. He hadn't smiled at me. Instead, he had scowled, frowned and talked to me openly. Something I had never witnessed before. I had acted in the only way I knew how to. Courteous and cheerful. But he hadn't bought the appearances. He hadn't cared and I had liked that.

I smiled at the thought of Jean. He was grumpy, forward, natural and he probably saw me as an idiot. He didn't like me. It was like he didn't like anyone. We were two men with opposite personalities from two different worlds but he was just like me internally.

I wanted to know him better. I wanted to be closer. I wanted him to like me. Because I felt that, for the first time in my life, I was starting to really enjoy someone's company and my smiles were turning genuine in front of someone else.

I had already learned so much about him from the small chats that I had with him over the register as I bought random things just to talk to him.

He was twenty five years old -I made sure to tell him he didn't look it-. He liked ramen and potato mash -I would certainly take him to a ramen place when he finally accepted to do something with me sometime-. His favorite color was red -I tried to wear red more often-. He worked everyday - which I wasn't sure why-.

Things like that.

Inwardly, I knew what was up with me but I wasn't sure if Jean had caught on anything. The feeling was spreading ever so slowly and occupying me day by day.

What would he think of me if he knew that I was... Would he want something like that? He clearly had some problems. Would he want my help? Would I be able to soothe him? Would I change anything for the better for him? Would I manage?

I took a deep breath and parked the car in front of the grocery store.

Only time would give me answers but I would certainly try my best. I had hope in Jean. He was different. He was good. And maybe, just maybe he would think the same way about me someday.


End file.
